


We'll Never Surrender

by whispered_story



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU after season 6, Episode: s06e22 The Man Who Knew Too Much, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispered_story/pseuds/whispered_story
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't bow down, they don't profess their love - but instead of killing them, Castiel vanishes. Sam and Dean know it might only be temporary, but at least for a while their lives are good - especially when Dean kisses Sam in New Mexico. [reposted, first posted on livejournal 17/7/2011]</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Never Surrender

They don't bow down. They don't profess their love.

For a few tense moments, Dean expects the worst, expects Castiel to follow through with his threat. He keeps his eyes fixed on Castiel's form, waiting for him to make the first move, but most of his attention is on Sam, really. Sam, who is standing behind Castiel, looking broken and exhausted and too far away. An easy target. If Cas did something, Dean wouldn't be able to get to Sam in time and the thought makes Dean's heart race, his breath come shorter. 

Not Sam. Anyone but Sam. 

Castiel has been his friend, part of his family for years. Bobby has been his family forever. In that moment, with the four of them standing in that room together, all Dean cares about is Sam. Sam is the one person Dean wants to save, needs to save. 

And then Castiel vanishes. 

They stand frozen, holding their breath, and Dean sees his own confusion mirrored on Bobby's and Sam's faces – this can't be it. This can't be over yet. Dean silently counts the seconds – one, two, three. He gets to six before he sees Sam's knees buckle. His long, lean body crumples, and Dean springs into movement. He stops caring whether or not Cas will come back to kill them.

+

It's quiet after that. Castiel seems to have vanished off the face of the earth – literally, Dean suspects – and they hole up at Bobby's for a while. Dean feels anxious, skin too tight for his body, and not sure what to do with himself.

Bobby hides behind books and Sam sleeps most days away. Dean fixes the Impala, helps Bobby go through a stack of books that all end up being useless, makes sure Sam eats and drinks. He holds Sam when he has nightmares at night and holds Sam by day when he gets lost in his own thoughts.

Days pass, then weeks and Sam gets better. Dean feels calmer with each day that passes, and yet more and more restless.

He breathes a sigh of relief when Sam looks at him one day, over coffee and buttered toast, and slides a newspaper across the table.

"There's a couple of suspicious deaths in Montana," he says, voice heavy with implication.

+

Castiel stays gone.

They start hunting again, and for the first few weeks Dean keeps expecting Cas to pop up out of nowhere. It doesn't happen. Instead everything seems unnaturally peaceful. There are ghosts and monsters and the occasional demon, but compared to the last few years everything seems tame. Easy. 

"The calm before the storm," he says to Sam one day. "That's what this is."

Sam smiles wearily. "Yeah, probably," he agrees. "But maybe that's all the more reason to enjoy it while it lasts."

+

Dean kisses Sam in an abandoned warehouse just outside of Santa Fe two months later. There isn't anything special about the moment, anything that pushes Dean over the edge – just the end of a pretty routine job and Dean feels good, happy that the hunt went off without a hitch. There aren't more than a few small bruises on either of them, and for once their biggest worry is where to head next. It's liberating, to hunt without worrying about the apocalypse looming over them, or his soul on the line, or either of their lives in immediate danger.

The warehouse is utterly quiet except for the faint sound of water slowly dripping down somewhere. It's dark and damp and smells a little moldy. Nothing about the moment sets Dean off, except that it feels right, so Dean pushes himself up against Sam and kisses him. 

They stand in the middle of the big, almost empty room, the corpse of a beheaded vamp lying a few feet away and Dean's machete at their feet. They kiss with their bodies pressed together and Dean's head tipped up, his fingers twisted in the hem of Sam's shirt. The kiss is brief and unhurried, just the sweet press of lips against lips.

When they part, they stay close and Sam pulls back far enough that Dean can see his face, and the smile on his lips. Sam rests his forehead against Dean's with a soft sigh and when he murmurs Dean's name, his voice is full of fondness.

Dean thinks he'll always remember this, will always be able to close his eyes and recreate this exact moment in his mind. The way Sam smells of sweat, the heat of his body, one of his hands cupping the side of Dean's neck.

"I think it was so damn obvious that this was bound to happen between us that I didn't even see it coming," Sam says a few days later, sitting on the hood of the Impala.

"That doesn't even make sense," Dean says with an eye-roll, but he smiles when Sam leans in and kisses him.

"I think nothing's ever made as much sense as this," Sam replies and steals Dean's beer bottle. Dean doesn't protest, too content to just sit and watch the way Sam's lips curl up at the corners as he empties the beer.

+

Sam makes a small, shuffling noise, twitching in his sleep and Dean stills the movement of his hand, lets his fingers splay on the small of Sam's back. Sam's skin is warm and soft, and Dean's hand is just barely brushing the swell of Sam's ass. He sighs, a slow swooshing noise in the quiet of the room.

It's the middle of the night, moonlight filtering in through the crappy curtains of their motel room and the muffled and distant noise of the occasional car passing down the town's main street. Sam is sprawled out on his stomach, one arm hugging his pillow, his face turned away from Dean, his other flung arm over most of Dean's pillow. Dean doesn't mind that Sam is taking up most of the bed. He just lies next to him with his head propped up on one arm and looks at him. Sam's tan skin looks paler in the murky light of the moon, and the cuts and curves of his body look a little softer, with his body relaxed in his sleep. The sheets have slipped down low, barely covering Sam's ass. Dean stares at the teasing inches he can see and imagines what the rest of Sam's body looks like underneath the sheets – the curve of his tight ass, the strong thighs that feel so damn good wrapped around Dean, leading down to calves that look too skinny compared to the rest of Sam's muscled body. Dean knows every inch of Sam, has touched and kissed every last perfect part of him.

Any other night, Dean would wake Sam. He knows Sam wouldn't mind, it would be far from the first time one of them woke the other for sex in the last few weeks, but tonight Dean is content to just watch him sleep. He doesn't give in to the temptation to lean in and kiss the arch of Sam's neck, and trail his lips down Sam's spine. He doesn't let his hands explore Sam's body, stroking down his sides, cupping Sam's ass in strong hands before sliding lower and carefully spreading Sam's legs apart to slide between. He just lies still and lets his eyes wander, breathing slow and deep, letting himself enjoy the moments of utter silence, with Sam right there next to him.

+

Dean traces his tongue over the small scar just above Sam's hipbone - a ghost hunt gone bad when Sam was seventeen and Dean couldn't get to him in time. He knows every single scar on Sam's body and knows how he got most of them, has them all memorized as if they are his own. There's a scar on Sam's elbow from when a demon flung him through a glass window. One on his stomach, right above his navel, from a fight with a shifter. There's a scar on his knee that he got falling of his bike when Dean taught him how to ride it. Sam's hair hides another scar, right where temple and hairline meet. There's one on Sam's shoulder and one of Sam's thigh. On nights like these, when Dean takes his time with Sam, he likes to seek out the scars and kiss every single one. They remind Dean that Sam has fought and survived, that he's stronger than everything life dishes out – all of them say the same thing, except for the scar on Sam's back where Jake stabbed him all those years ago.

Dean's hands slide around and underneath Sam almost of their own accord, fingers finding the puckered skin on his back, hitching Sam's body a little closer.

"Dean," Sam moans, fingers digging into Dean's shoulders.

Dean inches his head down, tongue trailing down the cut of Sam's hip, and he hums into Sam's skin. Sam is still damp from the shower, tasting like the cheap motel soap and smelling clean. Dean can't wait to change that, to make Sam's body glisten with sweat and spit and come. He nuzzles Sam's stomach, listening to the protesting whine Sam makes as Dean's mouth moves farther away from his cock again. He chuckles and dips his tongue into Sam's bellybutton.

"Fuck," Sam curses. The muscles of his stomach quiver under Dean's mouth. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Nah, you're too much fun to kill," Dean answers, biting the soft skin under Sam's navel. He smirks at the gasp the bite elicits. "You like that?"

"I'd like it if you stopped teasing me," Sam pants.

"Since you asks so nicely," Dean murmurs teasingly. He curls his hands around Sam's thighs, pushing them farther apart as he slides down Sam's body. He forgoes Sam's dick, nuzzling Sam's balls and the soft, sensitive skin behind them.

"Legs up," he says, cupping the back of Sam's thighs and urging them up as far as Sam's body allows, lifting Sam's ass off of the mattress. "Hold 'em for me."

"Dean," Sam says, voice a little broken and Dean smirks. He knows that Sam knows exactly what he's about to do, and he knows what it does to Sam, how it gets to him.

He bends down, using his now free hands to spread Sam's cheeks apart and traces his tongue between them, one broad, slow stripe. He breathes in the clean, heady smell of Sam's body and let's his teeth scrape carefully against the sensitive skin around Sam's entrance. The angle isn't perfect and Dean is probably going to end up with a crick in his neck, but the keening noise Sam makes and the way his body reacts is worth it. 

He tongues over Sam's hole, just barely putting any pressure against it at first and feels the tight ring of muscle flutter. He presses the tip of his tongue in, and Sam moans loudly, pushing back on him.

"Oh god," Sam breathes out. "More, Dean, please. More."

Dean hums, knows Sam will feel the vibration and grins when Sam's whole body shudders. 

He works his tongue in and out of Sam in small stabs, getting Sam's hole relaxed and wet with his spit, feeling it run messy down his own chin. He's enjoying this as much as Sam. His own cock is hard and dripping pre-come, and the way Sam writhes and moans only edges him on.

He lets go of Sam's ass with one hand, and slides a finger between Sam's cheeks instead. He rubs against the rim of Sam's hole, feels it slick and loosened, feels his own tongue thrust in and out of Sam's body, before pressing in alongside it. Sam's lets out a strangled gasp and rocks back on Dean's finger. 

It doesn't take much after that – Dean strokes his finger over Sam's prostate steadily and Sam stills, his hole clenching up.

"Dean," he gasps, his hole contracting around Dean's finger.

Dean slowly thrusts in and out of Sam a few more times, feels Sam's body shudder through his orgasm as his legs fall back down onto the mattress.

Dean pulls back and drops a brief kiss to Sam's thigh before sitting back on his haunches. He wipes his chin, grinning up at Sam who stares back, dazed, his face flushed. Dean crawls up Sam's body, Sam's come slick and sticky between their stomaches, and settles on top of him.

Sam makes a noise of protest, turning his head away when Dean tries to kiss him. Dean chuckles, knowing Sam hates the thought of kissing Dean when half of Dean's face was just buried in his ass.

"What? It's okay for _my_ tongue to be in your ass, but this is grossing you out?" Dean teases, cupping Sam's face and bringing their lips together in a hard kiss. Sam puts up a little resistance at first, but then he kisses Dean back.

"I hate you," he murmurs into the kiss, hands pushing at Dean's chest.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Dean replies, nipping at Sam's lower lip. "How about you stop bitching and take care of me now?"

He rocks down against Sam's body, letting him feel his hard cock, and laughs in surprise when Sam flips them over.

+

"I think I found something," Sam says, turning his laptop around for Dean to see the screen. "Sounds like it might be a Wendigo."

"A Wendigo," Dean repeats, skimming the article. 

They haven't hunted one of those in years, too caught up in the apocalypse and heaven and hell and Crowley and Sam's soul and Dean's life. He suddenly remembers Sam, a couple of years ago, before he took on Lucifer and jumped into the cage, saying something about Wendigos. About how simple hunting them had been, or maybe just how simple their lives had been back then. He can't remember the exact words, but it still brings a smile to his face.

At least for a moment, and Dean can let himself pretend this is their life now. It's a nice thought.

+

Dean slides into the shower behind Sam and presses up against him, kissing the back of Sam's neck softly. The water is only lukewarm, and Dean can't wait to leave in the morning. They've been in a lot of crappy motel rooms, but this one definitely makes the top ten – Dean's already spotted three cockroaches in the bathroom, there are spider webs, dust and dirt everywhere. Sam refuses to sleep naked because the sheets look they might not have been washed in a while.

Dean sighs softly, and takes a step back and lets his eyes drop to Sam's shoulder. 

"It doesn't look too bad," he says. He presses the tips of his fingers against the edge of the dark, ugly bruise, letting his other hand fall down and rest on Sam's hip.

Sam rolls his shoulder experimentally. "Yeah, it feels okay."

Dean tilts his head down, brushing his lips over the bruise. They stay like that for a while, letting the water rain down on them. Dean nuzzles Sam's neck, dropping small, brief kisses to his skin.

"I'm getting all pruney," Sam says eventually, twisting around in Dean's arms.

"Wanna get out?"

Sam looks down at him, hair plastered to his skull, water clinging to his lashes and dripping down his nose. "A few more minutes," he murmurs and dips down to kiss Dean. His hands frame Dean's face, and he kisses him deep and opened-mouth, water and saliva mixing, and the rushing sound of the water drowning out their soft, content sighs.

+

In Wichita they kill a demon. She smirks when they back her into a devil's trap, lips painted ruby red and eyes as black as her hair that falls past her shoulders.

"Sam and Dean Winchester," she says, and Dean bristles at her tone, at how uncaring she sounds when they both know she won't live much longer. "I've heard so much about you."

"Only bad things, I hope," Dean replies.

"Oh, yes, all bad," she says with a grin, licking her lips. "So very bad. You know, I always thought we demons were twisted. Kinda comes with the job description. But that's nothing compared to you two."

"You know," Sam says conversationally. "Chit chat isn't gonna save you. You're dead. You're just dragging it out a little."

"I know," she says easily. "But can't I have a few good moments before it's all over? Get to know the famous Winchesters. After all, I'll see you again in hell eventually. It's where all the bad guys who sleep with their brothers end up."

Dean feels his stomach twist, sudden and painful, and it must show on his face because the demon laughs, cold and hollow. "What, you thought we didn't know?" she asks. "Oh, Dean, we all know. It's quite a popular topic among us – Sam and Dean Winchester, two of the most dangerous hunters in the world, and here you're more screwed up than the rest of us. How does that feel, Dean, huh? Does it eat you alive that you can't stop yourself, can't resist your darling little Sammy?"

"You don't know anything," Dean hisses, stepping forward, but Sam's hand on his arm stops him.

"Ignore her," Sam says. He steps in front of Dean, and when Dean catches his eyes he looks calm. One of his hands cups Dean's nape, fingers tracing the skin there and pulling him into a kiss. Dean's not sure if Sam's trying to prove something to the demon or to Sam, but it's obvious that the means it. Dean can read it in the relaxed set of his shoulders and the small smile Sam gives him before turning back to the demon.

"Tell your buddies in hell 'hi' from us," he says smugly and starts chanting the exorcism. 

"You can tell them yourself when you join us," the demon spits and then screeches, head thrown back and dark vapor pouring out of her. The body collapses, twisted in a way that tells Dean that the woman has been dead long before they caught on to the demon.

He stares at her, the dark hair fanning around her face and the red lips unattractively twisted. Her eyes are a startling shade of blue now that there's no trace of the demon left in her.

He flinches when he feels Sam's arm come around him from behind, a hand resting on his stomach. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Yeah," Dean agrees, but Sam doesn't make a move and neither does he.

"It doesn't matter to me," Sam says. "What she said about us. I don't care about any of it. And I don't think it's wrong. It doesn't feel wrong, Dean."

Dean breathes out slowly, feels a calmness wash over him. Sam's body is big and warm, a sure weight Dean can lean into, and he covers Sam's hand with his and gives it a squeeze. "Same here, Sammy," he says. 

"Good," Sam murmurs, pressing a kiss to Dean's temple before pulling away.

+

At Bobby's, they stay in the room that has been theirs for as long as Dean can remember. There are two beds, one on each side of the room, taking up most of the space. They wait until the house quiets down when Bobby goes to bed. Sam crawls out of his own bed and into Dean's. There's not enough room for two grown men – Dean's elbow is digging into Sam's chest and Sam accidentally kicks Dean every time he shifts around.

"This isn't working," Dean hisses. "I can't sleep with you half on top of me. I feel like there's a _whale_ lying on me."

"Are you calling me fat?" Sam asks with amusement.

"No. I'm calling you a giant freak that is crushing me to death," Dean replies. "I can't sleep like this."

"Well, I can't sleep with you on the other side of the room. It's distracting. I can hear you breathe."

"My breathing is distracting?"

"Anything you do is distracting," Sam replies, his voice a deep rumble right next to Dean's ear, breath hot and damp on Dean's neck. 

Dean wants to roll his eyes and make some snide remark, but then Sam slides an arm around Dean's waist and sighs. "I don't have dreams when you're right next to me," he admits quietly.

Dean holds his breath, waits for Sam to say more, but nothing comes. He knows what it's like, the nightmares and memories that never really go away, and he wonders what it would have been like if things had been different between them when he came back from hell, if they'd had this back then. 

He shifts his body until he can slide an arm around Sam, and tug him a little closer. 

"Don't hog the covers," he says and kisses the bridge of Sam's nose.

+

August is hot and humid, air so thick you could cut it with a knife and Dean is glad for the week they spend further north, hunting a swamp monster. But then a ghost takes them back south again and the heat is almost unbearable.

They drive with the windows rolled down. At night, they kick everything but their pillows off the bed in their motel room and sleep with their bodies sprawled out next to each other. It's too hot to lay close, but Dean always hooks his ankle over Sam's and they sleep with their shoulders pressed together. Most mornings, Dean wakes up with Sam plastered to his side, both of them already damp with sweat. 

They fuck in the shower, cold water cascading down on them, or in the open spaces of their motel rooms when they find a place with a working A/C. Sam likes to press Dean against the tiles in the bathrooms or the cool, smooth surface of the doors, sliding down to his knees or turning Dean around and fucking him deep and slow, whispering into Dean's ear how much he loves this, how good it feels.

The hunts are quick. After everything they've been through, everything they've faced and defeated, ghosts and small time demons are easily taken care of. The most dangerous hunt they come across is a werewolf in Tennessee. 

"It's not gonna be like this forever," Sam says one night, lying on his side next to Dean in their dark room.

Dean wishes he didn't agree with Sam, but he knows Sam is probably right. Nothing good ever lasts.

+

"We better find a motel room tonight," Sam grouses, pushing his boxers down his legs. He bends over, and Dean can't look away from the sight of Sam's ass.

"And I hope nobody comes by while I'm buck naked," Sam adds, straightening up.

"We're miles away from civilization, Sam," Dean says, pulling off his own shirt. They had slept in the Impala the night before, both too tired to keep driving until they hit the next town. Judging by how few cars had passed them during the day, the area was basically deserted and Dean had followed a few dirt roads until they'd found a creek where they could park without being visible from the main road.

Sleeping in the car is always cramped, and Dean usually lets have Sam the slightly more spacious backseat but he always regrets it in the morning. Dean stretches his arms over his head to relieve the tension, listening to the popping of his bones, eyes still trained on Sam.

The grass is high enough to reach mid-calf on Sam, but the rest is just miles of naked, golden skin.

"Come on," Dean says, stripping off his boxers before sidestepping Sam. 

Sam lets out a startled yelp when he steps into the water and Dean sucks in his breath. Despite the heat already settling in, the water is freezing cold.

"Jesus," Dean curses.

Sam chuckles wryly. "I repeat, we better find a motel room tonight," he says, moving farther into the water anyway. 

They wade in until they reach the deepest part of the creek, but even there the water isn't higher than a few inches above their knees. Dean bends down, splashing water and washing himself as best as he can. There's dried come on his stomach and he scratches at it, watching it peel off in flakes.

His gaze snaps back up when a wave of cold water hits him in the face and he finds Sam laughing, head thrown back.

"Oh, now you're asking for it," Dean says. He splashes water at Sam, watching him try to turn away and doesn't let up until Sam is completely drenched, hands trying to shield his body and shaking with laughter.

"Stop, Dean, stop," Sam exclaims.

"You started it," Dean says, flinging more water at Sam.

Sam closes the space between them, trying to grab Dean's wrists but Dean twists away. They fight playfully for a few moments, Sam trying to get a hold of Dean while Dean tries to evade him and splash more water.

"Dean," Sam complains when the water hits him right in the face again, turning his face a way and spluttering while his hands reach for Dean blindly. 

He stumbles a little as he catches Dean around the waist and Dean grunts, trying to steady them but it's too late and he loses his footing. Sam goes down with him. They sit in the water for a moment in a tangle of limbs, gasping and trying to catch their breath. There's a stone digging in Dean's ass, and sand getting into places Dean really does not want it to go. 

Sam snorts first, breath puffing against Dean's neck, and then they both start laughing. 

"I think we're clean enough," Dean says with a smirk.

"And frozen enough," Sam adds as they untangle. 

Dean stands and holds out a hand to haul Sam the rest of the way up with him. They almost tumble down again when Sam's heavy weight crashes into Dean, but this time they manage to catch themselves before they fall, Sam's hands gripping Dean's hips and steadying him.

He peers down at Dean through wet bangs, a wide grin on his face that makes Dean's heart flip. This is his now, he thinks, this is them and sometimes he can't believe this is real, that he got this lucky. Castiel might come back, or something else might come, just as bad or even worse, but nothing will change the fact that Dean has this.

Sam ducks down and kisses him, sweet and soft, and murmurs, "Stop thinking, Dean."

+

The springs of the bed creak with every small movement they make. One leg of the bed seems to be a little shorter, thumping heavy against the floor as Dean moves above Sam.

Their neighbors keep banging against the wall, but Dean has no intention of stopping. He fucks Sam with deep, slow thrusts, sweat trickling down his skin and the muscles of his arms shaking as he holds himself above Sam. He likes it best like this – Sam on his back with his strong legs wrapped around him, so Dean can see everything Sam feels on his face. He loves the way Sam's lips form a perfect round 'o' when Dean hits his prostate, likes watching Sam's mouth as he draws small whimpers and moans from him, Sam's eyes dark and huge and his cheeks flushed. He looks so debauched, so beautiful.

"God, Sammy," he murmurs and leans down to kiss Sam, open-mouthed and sloppy, both of them panting into the kiss.

When they break apart, Dean speeds up his thrusts a little, fucking Sam harder, feeling his orgasm approaching. Sam digs his fingers into Dean's shoulders and arches into it. 

Someone starts angrily knocking on their door. Dean can feel Sam flinch in surprise, ripped out of the haze of arousal, and his own hips stutter to a halt. He watches Sam's lips twitch up, as he looks up at Dean with surprised amusement.

"Keep it down, some of us are trying to sleep," a deep male voice yells.

"Fuck you," Dean yells back good-naturedly, keeping his voice light and sweet and Sam laughs breathlessly. 

Dean draws back and rocks into Sam, grinning in satisfaction when the foot of the bed connects with the floor with a loud thump. 

"Oh god, Dean," Sam moans exaggeratedly and the knocking starts again. 

Dean ignores it and keeps fucking Sam, who groans out Dean's name loudly, the bed creaking under them. 

Dean watches Sam as Sam's moans quiet down to breathy whimpers and gasps again, but the amused upturn of his lips remains right until he comes between them, Dean following suit.

They collapse into a heap of sweat and come and Sam turns his face into Dean's shoulder and laughs softly.

"That guy has clearly never spent a night at a motel before," Sam chuckles.

Dean grins, pressing one leg between Sam's, his thigh brushing against Sam's dick. "Hmm, or he's just a dick," he muses.

"Or that," Sam agrees. "Wanna go again?"

Dean chuckles. "Give me a couple of minutes," he says.

The banging against the wall starts up the moment Dean slides into Sam again and picks a rhythm, bed thumping steadily against the floor and the wall. The noise mingles with a cursing coming from the room next door. Sam has an arm thrown over his face, muffling both moans and laughter, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Dean can't remember the last time Sam looked that happy, that carefree.

+

Summer turns into fall.

Dean sprains his ankle on a hunt, slipping and twisting his foot, and it's not even the angry spirit's fault. 

Sam finishes off the spirit and then helps Dean up, sliding one arm around Dean's waist and helping him back to the car. 

Back in the motel Sam ices Dean's ankle, wraps it up tightly and then makes Dean rest for a few days. 

Dean gets bored with television the first day. There's nothing outside of reference books for him to read. Sam won't let him use his laptop, though Dean still swears he had nothing to do with the virus that froze Sam's laptop last month. All they really have to pass the time is an old deck of cards, but Sam's too good at poker – even though he doesn't even enjoy the game – and Dean doesn't feel like losing.

"Guess this is what it's like to take a vacation," Dean mutters and Sam laughs, sitting down on the couch next to Dean with his laptop and a book.

"We took a vacation with dad once. It was actually pretty fun, remember?"

"Dad went off after less than a day to hunt," Dean reminds Sam with a frown.

"Yeah, but you started a fire on the lakeside and we ate burned hotdogs and marshmallows until we felt sick and you let me drink beer for the first time."

"That part wasn't too bad," Dean admits with a smile. "Until you started throwing up in the middle of the night because you couldn't hold your liquor."

"It was a stomach bug," Sam argues, rolling his eyes. "It was nice though, apart from the puking."

"Hmm," Dean says, stretching his legs up on the coffee table, careful not to jar his ankle. "We should do it again sometime."

"Yeah, sounds good," Sam agrees, a small smile on his face.

+

A week later, Dean is back on his feet.

They're in a motel fifty miles outside of Atlanta and Dean is shaving, wearing nothing but a towel and his skin still damp from the shower and flushed from the blowjob Sam just gave him. Sam is in a similar state, hips cocked to the side and leaning into Dean as he brushes his teeth. There's a hickey on his neck and Dean keeps glancing at it, something hot and possessive settling in his stomach.

When one of their cellphones rings, Sam spits the foam into the sink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"I'll get it," he says and shoots Dean a grin.

Dean watches him leave in the mirror before turning his attention back to his own reflection. He slides the razor down his cheek in broad, sure strokes and listens to Sam's side of the conversation. He can't make out more than a few words and the tone of Sam's voice.

"What's up?" he asks when Sam returns, phone still clutched in his hands. 

He looks tense, grim, no trace of the happy grin left on his face and Dean stomach drops. He wipes the remaining traces of shaving cream off his face.

"A small town in New England was wiped out completely overnight. Bobby is still trying to figure out what happened, but so far he has nothing. No signs prior to last night, no rhyme or reason."

The towel slips from Dean's hands and he turns around. "Castiel," he says.

"Maybe," Sam says. "That's what Bobby thinks."

Dean runs a hand over his face. "We knew this would happen," he says eventually.

"Yeah," Sam agrees and gives Dean a wry smile. They'd known, but Dean knows they'd both still hoped. Hoped that Cas had come down from the high he had been on after opening purgatory,that he'd come to his senses. 

"Let's pack," Dean says and straightens. "It's a pretty long drive. We should get going. Are we meeting Bobby somewhere?"

Sam nods. "He's looking into things and leaving as soon as he can. We'll meet up somewhere on the way."

"Good. I wanna get this over with," Dean says. 

"Dean," Sam says wearily, shoulders slumped, and Dean steps closer. He pulls Sam down into a quick, hard kiss.

"We'll take care of Cas, Sammy, and then we'll take that vacation," he says firmly. "Burned hotdogs, marshmallows, and I'll get you drunk on beer."

Sam searches his face, brows furrowed, and then gives Dean a small smile.

"Let's get going," he says.


End file.
